


my king

by MavenMorozova



Series: i hate you, i love you [7]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Erik Killmonger Wins, Blow Jobs, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, F/M, One Shot, Pet Names, Power Dynamics, Praise Kink, Reader-Insert, Rough Oral Sex, Smut, Throne Sex, Vaginal Fingering, no y/n, oh god here we go, porn with context
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:35:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27903811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MavenMorozova/pseuds/MavenMorozova
Summary: An ally of the royal family, you were sent on a stealth mission to gather intel on the new Wakandan Empire with Nakia, but when she escapes without you, you are left behind and must...face the consequences.
Relationships: Erik Killmonger/Reader
Series: i hate you, i love you [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1982635
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	my king

**Author's Note:**

> I just re-watched Black Panther last night and I couldn't stop thinking about erik stevens/killmonger, especially an au where he wins and holds power over well, everything??? so then i wrote this at 3am lmao
> 
> Reader is female and on the chubbier side:)

You are kneeled in front of your king, weight digging into the solid cold tile of the throne room’s floor, making you grimace in pain. It feels like you’ve been here for hours, even though it’s just a few minutes, and you know that it’s probably because of the way Killmonger’s hand is on the back of your neck, grip squeezing you gently, a wicked smirk on his face. “Looking pretty down there, princess.”

Of course, you are not a princess, but you appreciate the sentiment. And the pet name, which seems to be a favorite of his. You know only too well how Shuri would most likely destroy you on the spot right now for “stealing” her title—or at least get Okoye to do it for her—but right now, that doesn’t matter. Shuri’s fond annoyance can wait...or what  _ would  _ be fond annoyance if you were in anything but this situation. Fond annoyance would be reserved for you butting in to respond to someone addressing her, maybe teasing her in front of the Avengers. That’s what fond annoyance would be for.

Not for anything like this.

Because right now, you’re not sure that if Shuri, much less anyone else in the royal family, knew where you were, she would ever talk to you again. They ordered you on a stealth mission with Nakia to infiltrate Erik Killmonger’s tightly-secured nucleus of the Wakandan Empire, and yet, here you are on your knees before him, staring up at him as he imposes over you with heavily lidded eyes that tells you he knows  _ exactly  _ what you’re thinking.

It’s not that your mission has...failed, per se. You managed to get Nakia to the vaults she needed to access in order to re-transmit the old intel from before Wakanda’s takeover, and she slipped by you with practiced ease, giving you a terse yet respectful nod of her head and slight smile. You had both been extremely stressed; you couldn’t blame her.

And now she has escaped. You hope. You were not so lucky, instead dragged to the throne room and unceremoniously dumped before Erik Killmonger like a discarded whore. Maybe that had been the point.

The chamber is empty now, and every harsh pant of your breath can be heard echoing across the tiles. It’s beautiful, and ironic, and you wish that in another life, you could be here under pleasanter circumstances.

“Know why I brought you here? ‘Stead of killing you on the spot?” Killmonger suddenly asks, and his grip on the back of your neck tightens. You groan in pain, but also because this is somehow extremely arousing, and for a third reason, too: you are ashamed of your own bodily reaction.

Gasping out a breath, you say, “No. Why did you, my king?” Another sharp intake of breath as Killmonger draws you in, free hand drifting to your ass and pinching it. You wince, shame flooding through you along with arousal, and you let out a small whine.

Killmonger’s smirk widens. His actions have told you answer enough.

You are practically on his lap now—well, just your head is, for your knees are still pressed stubbornly into the tile. And this lap… His legs are spread wide, even wider than usual to accommodate your head being pulled between them, chin tilted up to stare at him defiantly.

As if he can sense your thoughts, he shifts his hips, slouching lower in the throne so that his crotch is almost pressed in your face. “Huh, princess? This what you want? My fat cock in your mouth?”

You moan, practically salivating at his words, and you can already feel yourself growing wet. “M-My king—”

“Tell me what you want, princess.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you mumble.

“What’s that? I didn’t hear.”

“Fuck me, daddy!” you nearly scream, this time unable to stay quiet, as he has quietly slipped his fingers beneath the band of your underwear and is now ghosting over your clit in a tease. _ Fuck, _ you want him so badly, despite the ruin he’s brough to Wakanda and the whole world. It only makes you feel more ashamed, and that alone sends another burning spike through you.

With your admission, Killmonger grins. “That’s right, babygirl. Beg for your king.” You moan as his fingers begin to stretch you open, large and thick, preparing the way for his cock, for right now, you are nothing but a vessel for him to empty himself into, a fucktoy, a lost spy whose last chance at survival is to cum on the cock of the most powerful man in the world.

“Use me however you want me,” you beg, nearly a whisper.

He cocks an eyebrow. “Aight then, if you say.” His reluctance is not nearly as convincing as he would have it seem, however, for the statement is followed by him pushing your head back to the ground so forcefully that it hurts, and then pulling his fingers out of you with a slick sliding sound, arms coming to rest on either armrest of the throne he sits in.

He looks down at you and spreads his legs just a little further. “How ‘bout if you can get me close to cumming, I’ll fuck you, how’s that, princess?”

Quicky, you nod. You’ll do whatever it takes to please him, even if that means taking him in a whole nother way.

His lips twist to the side as if to say,  _ well get to it, then _ , and you do, hands flying to undo his pants and push away the sides of the long robe he’s wearing. Soon, his cock finally springs free, and you grasp in eagerly, giving it a few pumps before taking it into your mouth, tongue dancing along it skillfully.

It’s not long before Killmonger takes control, though, and it becomes less of you giving him a blowjob and more of him fucking your face, dick pumping against the back of your throat furiously and without mercy. He is always without mercy. You choke on his length and size, but that only empowers him further, and he grins as he takes your head and presses it down onto himself, making you bob along at  _ his  _ pace.

_ That’s  _ new, and you feel like you can’t breathe, but that only serves to make you even wetter, so you let him continue to fuck your mouth, and when a thick pulse courses through his cock, you can tell he’s close, so you tear your head away before he can cum.

“Fuck,” Killmonger curses, breathing heavily. The part in his robes reveals his chest, heaving with his near-orgasm, and cautiously, you run your hand across it, feeling each of the burn scars against the skin of your palm. It’s so different from anything you’ve ever felt, but it only intrigues you.

Finally, with wide, pleading eyes that you can only hope look bratty, you meet his gaze again. “Will you fuck me now, my king?”

“I did promise you, princess,” he admits, dabbing at his own precum and prodding your lips with his wet finger. You open your mouth to lip, cleaning his fingers with a skillful tongue. “But you better take those clothes off.”

Though feeling a little self-conscious, you do, unwrapping the basotho blanket from your neck and the tighter layers underneath. Finally, you slip off your undergarments, leaving you bare in front of him.

Erik Killmonger’s eyes travel slowly when he’s assessing a situation, and this time, it’s no different, his gaze appreciative as it lingers on the curves of your hanging breasts and the swell of your hips and ass. “Come over here, babygirl,” he says to you, nearly a whisper, and you do, about to kneel in front of him when he stops you with a soft kiss to your lips and a hand clenching a cheek of your thick ass. “None ‘a that, now. I didn’t kill you for a reason, right?”

“I, uh—” You break off in confusion, unsure of where he’s headed. Didn’t he just want someone to fuck the shit out of? And you were there, so willing, so  _ eager? _

He smirks as he realizes that you have no idea what he’s talking about. “We’ll worry about that later, princess. Right now, I’mma fuck you senseless.”

Your pussy clenches at his words, and he grins at that, grabbing you and pressing you onto his lap so that your legs are folded on either side of him. The throne is large enough that it’s still comfortable, even with his legs spread out as wide as they are.

Slowly, you begin to ride him, moving faster when your body becomes more impatient. Erik hisses, hands settling on either side of your hips and using the padding of flesh there to aide you in bouncing on top of him with ease. “That’s right, princess. You’re doing so good.  _ Fuck yes.” _

It’s heaven, right here, and it sends a rush of thrill through you to know that this man fucking your pussy is one who’s killed hundreds of people, who largely rules the entire world with a fist made of vibranium. Not literally—though you wouldn’t be surprised if he decided to replace one of his own fleshy limbs with a metal one.

“Oh, my king, I’m so close,” you moan then, feeling your body’s tide reach near its peak. “Please, daddy—”

“Cum on my dick, princess,” he hisses in your ear, allowing you to ride him through your orgasm as obscene sounds emit from your mouth and your hands grip his shoulders, serrated and roughened as they are.

When it’s over, you collapse onto him and the throne, curling onto your side, plushy skin such a contrast to his muscled frame. You almost could fall asleep, if there wasn’t that one pinprick of fear, and of course, the omnipresent hatred festering for him in your heart.

“What were you talking about for a moment?” you finally ask him, eyes closed and head resting on his shoulders. He is absentmindedly running a hand across the bare expanse of your body, tracing lazy circles across the curve of your stomach and down to squeeze your thighs in appreciation.

“You wanna stay?” he asks. It’s an almost answer, and you frown. “Why should I do that? You’ve destroyed everything that’s important to me.”

“Then let me be that new important thing,” he says in reply. “Rule with me. Be my queen.”

“For the sex?”

He shrugs, and the movement is massive. “For everything. Whatever my babygirl wants.”

You suck in a breath. It’s tempting, for sure. But it’s also a betrayal to everything you’ve worked so hard for. “I can’t,” you admit.

“Then I gotta kill you,” he whispers. “And that’d be a shame, yeah?”

You swallow. Look at him. Swallow again.

“Yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> sooooo tell me what you think?


End file.
